


call me home and i will build a throne

by queenmcgonagall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenmcgonagall/pseuds/queenmcgonagall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s just, he’s here and he’s found this boy and the sun is really hot and he’s got alcohol swishing through his veins and his two best friends are in love and making out next to him and Louis’s hand is hot and tight in his and god, this is such a good song, and Harry thinks he could live forever if he could stay in this spot with Louis warm against him and the deafening screaming of the crowds echoing in his ears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	call me home and i will build a throne

It’s 8 am, Zayn and Niall are holding hands, and Harry already sort of wants to go home. He’s sitting in the backseat of the car, feet kicked up on the windows and his eyes are trained on Zayn and Niall’s linked fingers sitting on the center console of the car. Zayn’s driving, humming along to the radio while Niall sleeps with his mouth open, head slumped against the window. He’s got crumbs down his front from when they stopped at McDonalds an hour ago and he’d eaten three EggMcMuffins. As Harry watches, Zayn looks over at Niall and smiles fondly and Harry has to look away out the window, before he rolls his eyes so hard that Zayn will hear him.

Like, it wouldn’t be so hard if Harry himself hadn’t just been dumped on his ass. It’s not that he’s stingy or a dick or anything. Of course he wants his friends to be happy, and of course he’s thrilled that Zayn’s year-long campaign to get in Niall’s pants actually succeeded. But a few months ago, that’d been Harry, holding hands while frolicking around London with the biggest hipster-shit of all time and Harry had been happy. He’d been so happy. There were lots of nights out, Harry deliberately flirting with men at the club until Nick dragged him into bathroom and sucked him off in the stalls, there were the afternoon coffee runs in between class when Harry would show up unannounced at the radio station and sit next to Nick, playing with complicated buttons and suggesting music for Nick to play.

He dealt with how insufferable Nick was, and he got used to Nick leaving at 5 am for his radio show; he found it endearing how rude Nick was to everybody but him, the way he was so pretentious it almost made Harry’s teeth hurt. But the lazy mornings afterward, when Nick would crawl back into bed and wake Harry up with one hand in his curls and one on his cock, Harry really misses those. So that was very good and jolly until he came home from class one night to Nick in bed with some Burberry model’s mouth around his cock. And then it was all “darling, it doesn’t mean anything” and “babe, it was just a bit of fun”, until Harry finally moved out and crashed on Zayn’s couch for a few weeks.

And Zayn was so nice about it; he went on midnight ice cream runs when Harry could barely move off the couch because of the mountain of tissues he was buried under. Zayn made pot of tea after pot of tea until Harry felt like his blood was made of the life-saving liquid, and Zayn sat and listened to Harry sniffle about his lonely existence, with Love Actually playing in the background. Zayn even put up with Harry when he was standing on the couch, pumping his fists and cheering through his tears as Sam sprinted through the airport after his little girlfriend. But after the third time that Harry saw Niall sneak in the door when Zayn thought Harry was asleep on the couch, Harry knew it was time to move out and he’d found some little stupid apartment that he hated. He hated the big, wide, empty bed and the ringing silence and the endless reruns of Gossip Girl that he immersed himself in.

Harry was not good at being alone. He needed a relationship; he wanted somebody to wake up to and somebody to cuddle with while watching Friday night TV. He wanted somebody who’d waltz into the room and pry Harry away from his endless papers and assignments and convince him to go out for a walk, someone to hold hands with. But that somebody was off fucking beautiful people with chiseled abs and perfect hair, and who were probably loads more interesting and fabulous than Harry, the dumb little kid with the too big grin and the gangly limbs and a penchant for getting too excited over the dumbest things. So for the last month, Harry had languished away inside his apartment, with boxes of Chinese takeout piling up and beer bottles on every surface, slaving away over papers on Macbeth and Chaucer until he thought he’d be speaking in riddles and sonnets until he died. He was lonely, he barely went to class, and his best friends were having 100% more sex than he was, and Harry was always the one having the most sex. So he was miserable.

And then in the record shop where Zayn spent all his days sorting obscure vinyls, someone put up a flyer for Leeds Festival and that’s how Harry finds himself whizzing down a highway with two tents stuffed into the trunk of the car and his two best friends being sickening in front of him. Harry is not a cynical person, but seeing Zayn’s thumb stroke over the back of Niall’s hand is making Harry think nasty thoughts about how love doesn’t exist in a cruel world where men with quiffs prefer Burberry models to poor uni students.

“Zayn, do you have to be so cheesy in front of me?” Harry grumbles, knocking his knees against the back of Zayn’s seat. “I swear to god, I can see the hearts in your eyes.”

“Shut up, Haz,” Zayn says good-naturedly. “Just because you’re a lonely bastard doesn’t mean the rest of the world has to be miserable.”

“I would be a lot happier if I hadn’t seen Niall’s dick yesterday,” Harry gripes. “Do y’know how long I could’ve gone without seeing that?”

“No, I don’t, and I don’t care,” Zayn laughs and looks at Harry in the rearview mirror with his eyebrows raised.

“A long time. My whole life even.” Harry sticks out his tongue at Zayn’s reflection.

“It’s a lovely dick, you should be grateful he likes you enough to not close the door when I’m sucking him off,” Zayn smirks in the mirror and Harry sees him squeeze Niall’s hand, and Niall gives a huge snore, and smacks his mouth around. “It’s like live porn.”

“Just what every friend wants,” Harry sighs loudly and deeply, to accentuate just how annoyed he is with his friends. He’s not really. He’s happy for them. He hasn’t seen Zayn this smiley and giggly since his last boyfriend. It just twinges a bit in his lonely old shriveled heart that Harry, who prides himself on his matchmaking skills, is now watching the fruits of his success without a giggling co-matchmaker laughing into his neck.

“Mate, you of all people should be happy there are two more people having sex in this world,” Zayn responds and taps his fingers against the steering wheel in a melody that sounds very much like that song of Justin Bieber’s where he just yells baby, baby, baby over again. Harry is sure that Niall is twisting Zayn’s mind with his atrocious music preferences. “You’re the one always saying there’s not enough sex going on at any given minute.”

“When I say that, I usually mean that someone should have sex with me,” Harry mutters.

“You’re a brat, Haz,” Zayn chuckles. “Go to sleep and stop bothering me, I’m having bonding time with Niall’s hand and the radio. We won’t be there for a few more hours.”

Harry has terrible friends.

Two hours later, they’re sitting in a line of cars that seems to extend for miles, waiting to get through the gates into the large area where the festival is happening. Harry wakes up with his face smashed against the back of the seat and he can hear whispering and murmuring from the front seat. He clenches his eyes shut and tries to block out the quiet sound of Niall’s laugh. He knows they’re being quiet because he’s sleeping, which is nice, but Christ, is there no sympathy in the world?

He yawns loudly and obviously, turning over and sitting up. Niall’s leaning on his arm on the console, his head totally in Zayn’s personal space and as Harry watches, Niall turns his head slightly and bites gently at Zayn’s shoulder through his t-shirt. When Harry clears his throat obnoxiously, Niall tilts his head towards Harry and grins his stupid big smile that makes Harry just want to cuddle the fuck out of him and never be upset with him ever again.

“Hey Sleeping Belle, we’re here,” Niall says in a singsong voice. “Rise and shine, the earth says hello!”

“It’s Sleeping Beauty, you shit,” Harry grouches and slumps his forehead against the window. There are seas of the people in the distance, large stages set up. The gate to the park is getting closer as they inch through the line and Harry just prays that they get to their campsite soon so he can leave the honeymooning couple to their lovesick idiocy.

“Well, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the car seat,” Zayn cackles and shares a high five with Niall. “Excuse us for not knowing every Disney princess ever created, your highness.”

“Very funny,” Harry rolls his eyes. So what if Harry has a Disney movie collection that rivals any 8 year old child? Harry has it on tape that Zayn cries when Mufasa dies in Lion King, every single time with no fail. Harry plans on showing the tape at Zayn and Niall’s wedding, just so everyone can see the way Zayn had needed an entire box of tissues all for himself. Harry should probably admit to himself that he’s quite bitter about the whole thing.

By 11 AM, Harry has abandoned Zayn and Niall. When they finally got to their campsite, they’d started to put up the tents and Harry had gotten so sick of their adorable play-fights with the tent-poles, and the way Niall kept pretending to trip Zayn and then grabbing him and licking his face. There’s only so much a best friend can take, Harry thinks, and he wanders off, leaving them to hopefully brain each other senseless with the poles.

He ambles around, staring at the eclectic people gathered in groups around tents and the musicians rushing by with guitar cases jangling at their sides. It’s a sight of complete chaos and although Harry is still bitter about being forced to come against his will, dragged away from his bed in a showdown featuring Zayn yelling something about Harry wasting away as a lonely bachelor, he is able to appreciate the anticipation and the excited thrill that thrums through the air. People walk around, fanning themselves with their programs, while others are huddled around their programs, circling bands with pens and arguing over which to see first. Harry hadn’t even bothered to look at the program, knowing that as a connoisseur of obscure music, he’d know at least one or two of the bands playing in the next few days.

There are concessions stands set up everywhere, selling overflowing pitchers of cheap beer and greasy hotdogs. Harry drags his feet in the dust, and wishes he could be one of the people rushing around, already drunk and yelling loudly about their favorite bands. He wishes he was here with Nick, who would’ve scoffed at the sense of community that music festivals like these produced. Nick would’ve made fun of those people who sway to the music and yell the words loudly and out of tuned, but secretly underneath his prickly shell, he would’ve been enjoying it immensely and Harry would’ve rubbed it in his face for weeks afterwards. Actually, if Harry was here with Nick, he wouldn’t be walking around like a lonely loser with no friends, he’d probably be behind the outhouses with his cock out and Nick wrapped around him like an octopus, whispering all the things he was going to do to Harry in the tent later.

Nick would’ve made fun of Harry for wanting to hold his hand, would’ve called him a lovesick teenager and acted as if he was doing Harry a great favor by linking their fingers together, but then he would’ve squeezed Harry’s thumb and knocked their hips together and Harry would know that deep down, Nick was glad that Harry didn’t care what people thought and that he actually wanted to hold Nick’s hand.

God, Harry is pathetic. Can’t even go a few hours with missing Nick.

Harry is so lost in thought over the idea of being at this dumb festival with his dumb ex-boyfriend, he runs right into something very solid and warm, and then there was a sloshing sound and suddenly Harry has warm beer soaking the front of his t-shirt.

“What the-?” he paws at his shirt as it clings stickily to him and then there’s another set of hands trying to wipe away the beer from him.

Harry looks up, and as cliché as it sounds, there’s a boy with blue eyes that can only be compared to like, the sky or the ocean. That’s how blue they are. It’s kind of ridiculous. He has soft caramel colored hair that’s styled into a half-quiff that’s wilting slightly in the heat and his hands are waving concernedly in front of him.

“God, I’m so sorry, I totally wasn’t looking where I was going,” the blue-eyed boy says with his eyebrows knit together, and then he extends his hand to Harry. Harry stares at his hand, small and fragile-looking with dirty nails and the word dick written in Sharpie on the back of his hand. He grasps it, his giant hand totally eclipsing the boy’s delicate one, and lets himself be pulled up, until he’s towering over the other boy, who laughs in surprise at how much taller Harry is than he.

He’s really pretty. Like really insanely pretty. His cheekbones are defined and sharp and high and look, Harry’s always had a thing for cheekbones, it’s just a weakness of his. The boy’s eyelashes are long, framing his blue eyes and his skin is tanned, with the barest hint of stubble on his chin. He’s wearing longish blue shorts with what looks like little white sailboats on them, and a tight-fitting black t-shirt with The Killers splashed across it. His biceps are straining against the fabric of his t-shirt and Harry kind of wants to lick his neck, which is a little bit forward, so Harry shakes the idea out of his head.

“I’m Louis,” the boy says, still holding Harry’s hand loosely in his own. “Sorry about the beer.” He smiles and Harry almost falls over, because his smile is sort of blinding and Harry is tongue-tied for words. At Harry’s silence, the boy’s smile falters and Harry can’t bear the thought of the boy not smiling, so he pulls himself together in time to respond.

“Harry,” he smiles back and shakes Louis’s hand in a weird, swinging motion. “It’s no problem about the beer, my shirt was ugly anyways.” It is. It’s white and thin and probably dirty, since Harry hasn’t done laundry in weeks. Not to mention, when Harry moved out, he left all Nick’s clothes obviously, which meant Harry was out half a wardrobe.

Ugh, Nick again.

“S’not ugly,” Louis laughs and his mouth opens wide and there are little crinkles by his twinkly eyes and Harry wants to poke the little pouchy skin under his eyes to see if it’s as soft as it looks. “Although, you’d probably win a wet t-shirt contest now.”

“Just the look I was going for,” Harry jokes. “Look, let me buy you another beer for the one I spilled.”

“Wow, Mr. Harry, 5 minutes into our meeting and you’re already buying me drinks? That’s pretty progressive of you,” Louis giggles and Harry feels like the sun has come out from behind a cloud when he hears the tinkly sound of Louis’s laugh, like he would actually fucking jump off a cliff if it meant Louis would laugh again.

“Well, I’d hate for you to miss out on all the drunken adventures that beer could bring,” Harry teases him, feeling that well-oiled skill of flirting slide back into place with every passing moment. Harry is good at this. He’s really good at it. He charms the pants off everyone he knows. Literally, the pants off. He grins at Louis and shakes his hair out of his eyes.

“If I let you buy me a drink, will you let me lend you a t-shirt?” Louis asks. His eyes rake up and down Harry’s torso and Harry feels little shivers run up and down his arms at the feeling of those blue eyes roving over him.

Harry laughs loudly and lets his own eyes scan up and down Louis’s little body, his soft stomach slighting pushing against his t-shirt and his thick arms. “I doubt any of your t-shirts will fit me, but we can try.”

“You can’t go around looking like that, you’ll be fighting the girls off with sticks,” Louis protests. “Or the boys,” he adds, as an afterthought, a questioning glint in his blue eyes as he cocks his head towards Harry.

“Unfortunately, I’d say my general lack of allure has pretty much ensured that no boys will be chasing after me this weekend,” Harry states bluntly. “Or girls.” Well, that part is true. Once upon a time, Harry was pulling girls and boys in the armload and by the end of this weekend, his phone would be full of new contacts. These days, Harry feels more like a disgruntled old bastard, glaring at anyone with light in their eyes and happiness in their smiles. Louis’s the exception, he thinks to himself, as he smiles crookedly at him.

“I highly doubt that,” Louis grins and wow, he’s got these little fangs that poke out over his lip and Harry wonders what they’d feel like puncturing the thin skin of his lips, or better yet, bruising the side of his neck.

The harsh sun beats down on them as they stand there, Harry squinting down at Louis and Louis with his fangs and those crinkly eyes and his t-shirt that’s making Harry want to rub his hands up and down Louis’s arms and feel the corded tendons that stand out as Louis crosses his arms across his chest. The swarms of people rush by, parting around them as if they’re rocks in the ocean and Harry feels almost rooted to the spot as he takes in the way Louis has to tilt his head up to look Harry in the eye. They stare at each other. Harry’s never felt so warm in his life.

After Harry has bought the beer, he and Louis wind their way through the crowds and the scattered tents back to his campsite. On the way, Louis explains that he basically dragged his friend Liam to the festival, despite the fact that Liam had staunchly claimed that he had piles of homework to do. But, as Louis explains, music and beer comes before homework in every single way.

“So you’re in uni?” Harry asks, narrowly avoiding spilling the new glass of beer on someone who shoves by him, laughing raucously. The sun is bright, blinding him as he looks over at Louis, who’s balancing pitchers of beer in his arms and delicately sidestepping around people at the same time. Harry blushes as he stumbles over a small hole, distracted by his hopefully-not-obvious staring at Louis’s profile.

“Sorta,” Louis laughs; his voice is sweet and honeyed by the small sips of beer he’d been taken to bring down the amount of spilling he was doing with the pitchers. “I’m a communications major, which basically means I make a lot of videos and skip a lot of class.”

“What’s the dream, then?” Harry asks.

“Oh you know, little of this, little of that,” Louis says carelessly. “’M not really all that worried, gonna be honest with you. I’m only 21, I want to live a little, you know?”

By this time, they’ve made it back to Louis’s campsite, where there are two tiny tents set up, with a beat up station wagon parked next to them, and Louis’s friend Liam is nowhere to be seen. There’s a small note stuck to the window-wiper of the station wagon, explaining that Liam has gone to get water. Louis reads it out-loud to Harry, laughing after every sentence, because apparently leaving a note is a very Liam thing to do, and Louis isn’t surprised that the first thing he went to do was get beer and the first thing Liam went to do was stock up their water supply. Louis snorts at the note and rips it up, throwing it into the unlit fire pit.

“Idiot,” he laughs. “Alright, hang on, I’ll grab you a t-shirt.”

He comes out of his tent with a bright red Man U t-shirt that he tosses at Harry, who pulls off his sopping and sticking white t-shirt. The Man U t-shirt is a little short, but Louis tell him it looks sexy, and well, who is Harry to refute what Louis says.

“Well, Curly, I’ve got enough beer to feed an army and my sorry excuse of a friend is nowhere to be found, so have one and tell me all about yourself,” Louis says, and flops down in one of the fold up chairs he’s set up around the fire pit. Harry has a hard time looking away from the golden skin of Louis’s thighs, exposed from where his shorts ride up as he flings his legs over the side of his chair. He kicks off his Vans and wiggles his toes around. He was wearing no socks. Harry finds that disgusting and yet awfully endearing.

By the time Harry thinks to text Zayn, he’s drunk on a pitcher of cheap beer and he’s got Louis’s bare feet in his lap and one hand on the bone of his ankle, and he knows the names of all Louis’s sisters and every band Louis has ever seen and so much more useless information that he stores in the back of his mind, and treasures as the pieces of Louis that he gets to carry around with him after this golden afternoon in the sun is over. With every swig of the pitcher that Louis takes, his laugh get louder and his smile gets brighter and wider and he keeps leaning over and putting his hand on Harry’s arm, and Harry’s got the feeling of those small fingers clasped around his forearm memorized. Louis’s styled hair has fallen down on his forehead in this sweet fringe that Harry wants to push out of his eyes. Nick hasn’t crossed Harry’s mind in hours. The sound of Louis’s laugh and the soft skin of his ankle and the look of his legs spread out across Harry’s and the wide arcing gestures of his arms is mesmerizing and Harry drinks it all in, can’t get enough of this boy and his blue eyes.

Every once in a while people stop by, intrigued by the two boys howling with laughter, and Louis instantly makes friends with them, offering them a chug from his pitcher, and trading life stories with them, occasionally throwing a small secret smile to Harry that he likes to pretend means that Louis still likes him best of all his new friends. Louis seems to have that magnetic pull that makes people stop and listen to him and want desperately to hear all the inane things that fall out of his mouth, like the long-winded story on the migration of these South American birds that Harry has zero interest in but he’s enchanted by the way Louis’s mouth curls and the way it moves around his words. He’s sparkly and giggly and warm and Harry feels that little knot that’s been sitting inside his chest loosen a little bit every time Louis smiles at him.

Liam soon returns with a sloshing bucket of water to a very drunk Harry and Louis and a crowd of people he doesn’t know. He’s bewildered at first, until he gets talking to one of the girls who stopped by, a pretty girl named Darla or Danielle or Delilah, Harry doesn’t know, and the two of them disappear with the girl’s friends trailing them. Harry and Louis and all their new friends plan a route of music that takes them all over the park. When they get up, Louis, drunk and giggly on beer, loops his arm through Harry’s and smacks a wet and sticky kiss to his cheek and Harry’s bones shiver a little bit at the feel of Louis all pressed up against his side, warm and sunshiny, his little body writhing with excitement. He keeps breathing heavily in Harry’s ear and squealing about the different bands he’s excited to see until Harry feels so wound up from the feel of Louis’s breath against him that he thinks he’s going to snap if Louis touches him anymore.

The first band on their list is across the park from their campsite and their group pushes their way through the crowds of people heading in all directions. The faint sounds of the bands all over the park add to the beautifully chaotic roar of the crowds that push and shove Harry and Louis and their new friends all over the place, until Louis fists his little hand tightly in Harry’s t-shirt and Harry feels deliciously manly as he pushes his way through the swarms with Louis clinging to him like a little monkey.

With The Black Keys thrashing away, the crowd screaming, Harry and Louis are pressed together, hip to hip, while everyone moves around them, a giant massive writhing crowd screaming along loudly. Louis yells the lyrics, wrongly, in Harry’s ear until Harry’s sides are aching from laughing so hard and trying to sing at the same time; he’s out of breath and the sweat pours from his forehead and Louis’s little face is shining with sweat, his fringe plastered to his forehead. They’re both screaming, voices raw and every time Harry looks at Louis, he looks back and the grin on his face is enough to make Harry feel on top of the world. The bellowing of the crowd is a dull roar in his ears and all he sees are Louis’s eyes and his red mouth and his face grinning up at him and Harry’s bones echo with the thrill of it all, of the pure and unadulterated joy coursing through his veins. At some point throughout the set, Louis’s hand finds its way back into Harry’s and they grin at each other, the screaming of the crowd making it impossible to do anything but share a smile. Harry gets a little flutter in his stomach every time Louis squeezes his hand.

“Haz! Hey Haz, over here!”

Harry hears Niall’s shouts over the crowd and the music and when he turns, Niall is pulling Zayn by the hand through the crowd towards them. Their fingers are linked and Harry feels a little pang in his heart at the thought that they’ve been off enjoying music and getting drunk off their love, but then Louis squeezes his fingers again and he breaks out in a smile bigger than the crowd they’re swaying with, bigger than the sun blazing over their heads.

He reaches out and grasps Niall’s flailing hands and pulls the blonde boy to him, clasping him against his side and laughing in his ear. Niall smells like beer and sweat and cologne and his hair is brighter than ever, bleached by the few hours in the sun. His face is red and freckly and it seems he’s got Zayn drunk, because Zayn’s mouth is slack with laughter and his quiff has fallen down, which almost never happens.

As Harry watches, Niall pulls Zayn up against him and smashes their faces together, licking a long strip up the side of his face, slobbering like a dog until Zayn screeches with laughter and pulls away, a hand threaded tightly in Niall’s hair. Harry turns and grins into Louis’s neck, and if he presses his lips against the side of his neck, well, nobody will know. It’s just, he’s here and he’s found this boy and the sun is really hot and he’s got alcohol swishing through his veins and his two best friends are in love and making out next to him and Louis’s hand is hot and tight in his and god, this is such a good song, and Harry thinks he could live forever if he could stay in this spot with Louis warm against him and the deafening screaming of the crowds echoing in his ears.

Zayn’s got his arms around Niall from behind, hands clasped in front of his stomach and he’s sucking bright red spots behind Niall’s ears while Niall screams along with the crowd, one hand yanking on Zayn’s hair and the other flailing around, and Harry doesn’t feel so bitter about it anymore.

Louis leans over and yells something in Harry’s ear, but Harry doesn’t hear him so he raises his eyebrows at Louis and yells for him to repeat it.

“I said, are they together?” Louis shouts in his ear, digging his fingers into Harry’s side until he’s laughing so hard he can barely breathe.

Harry nods at him, breathless with laughter, his head loose and fuzzy feeling as it lolls against Louis’s. Louis just butts heads with him and leans in again.

“C’mon, let’s give ‘em a run for their money!” Louis screams in his ear, his face lit up with mirth and mischief. His blue eyes are shining, almost challenging Harry and before he even knows what he’s really agreeing to, he nods his head.

Louis laughs raucously, the sound of it jumping high above the sounds of the crowd and he crowds into Harry’s space, throws an arm around his neck even though Harry is too tall for him and threads his fingers through Harry’s hair, pulling hard until Harry’s groaning, his mouth open in a moan that’s lost in the crowd, but Louis knows what it is and his eyes are glinting when he pulls back from Harry, his mouth in a wide grin.

He swoops back in, bites Harry’s jaw with his little pointy fangs, and Harry can feel his eyes roll back into his head at the sensation and then Louis’s lips are brushing against his ear.

“Harry, for the rest of the day, we’re a couple,” he says in his ear, and although he’s not yelling, Harry can hear every word perfectly as though they’re in a silent room, and chills roll down his spine and he tries not to grin too widely and maniacally at the small boy standing in front of him with a smile as huge as anything Harry has ever seen.

Harry pulls Louis in front of him, like Zayn has with Niall, and molds his front against Louis’s curvy back, feeling with his hips the rounded swell of Louis’s arse encased in those sinfully tight blue shorts. He puts his fingers at Louis’s throat and he can feel the vibrations as Louis resumes screaming the woefully wrong lyrics to the song the band is playing and Harry grins into Louis’s sweaty hair. Beside him, Niall pulls his face away from Zayn’s long enough to throw Harry a knowing look, cocking his eyebrow and grinning his giant clown grin. He laughs uproariously until Zayn yanks him by the neck around and seals their lips together and Harry laughs into the back of Louis’s neck as he sees Zayn’s hand snake around and crawl up the back of Niall’s t-shirt. Alcohol clearly makes Zayn horny and Harry knows that before the sun has gone down, they’ll be back in their tent.

The afternoon wears on and Harry’s hand is permanently on Louis’s hip as they wind their way around the park, sometimes with Zayn and Niall and sometimes they can’t find them in the crowd, but it’s not important as Harry loses himself in the blue of Louis’s eyes and their giddy laughs. The sun beats down and Harry can feel his face burning and Louis keeps taking swigs from a flask and then pours the burning liquid down Harry’s throat until he’s coughing and spluttering and Louis is laughing hysterically at him. They wave their arms and scream at bands and at one point, Louis is hoisted up on the shoulders of these random drunk shirtless men and they pass him from person to person, while he screams and laughs and Harry can’t take his eyes off him. If ever anybody glowed, it’s Louis. It’s like the sun has drowned him and it pours out of his skin and his eyes and his mouth and he blinds Harry with how bright he is, the way his eyes get bluer as the sun goes down and the park lights go on, the way his laugh gets syrupy and loose from the alcohol, the way he breaths heavily in Harry’s ear when he jumps on Harry’s back from behind and bites sharply at his neck. They hold hands everywhere they go and part of Harry wishes they were together for real and not pretending but he’s not even sure now if they are pretending because sometimes Louis will turn and look at him and his shrieking laughs will stop and he’ll just smile sweetly and softly at Harry. And even though Harry wants to rip his t-shirt to shreds and ravage him for most of the day, that all comes to a standstill and he just wants to make Louis smile like that for as long as he can.

They take a break from the music at dinnertime and eat hotdogs on the ground and sometimes Louis sits in Harry’s lap and tries to feed Harry his hotdog and other times Louis is spread out on the ground, t-shirt riding up and exposing his hips, while he talks to some random guy with a guitar, or the girl with the dreadlocks and the belly piercing that Louis is so fascinated by. They see Liam and the girl, whose name Harry finds out is Danielle, over by the water pumps and Liam’s got stars in his eyes that Harry can see from miles away, even without knowing the boy. Louis teases him and whispers something in his ear that makes Liam turn bright red and shove Louis away, and then Louis smiles softly at him and kisses his cheek and prances away with Harry following after him, shaking his head and laughing at this insane boy.

“So Harry, now that you’re so clearly in love with me, I think it’s time that you told me about your past conquests,” Louis says as he’s lazily sprawled on the ground with his head in some boy named Aiden’s lap and his feet in Harry’s. Harry tickles the bottom of Louis’s feet until he’s curled up and gasping for breath and then Louis kicks him in the diaphragm and sharply tells him to quit abusing his husband and spill his past.

“I was with this guy,” Harry says, bashfully, awkwardly aware of the group of strangers surrounding them as they sit on the prickly grass in the shadow of one of the huge stages where some unknown band is playing some sort of rock ballads.

“Really, Harry, how unhelpful,” Louis snorts at him, poking his stomach with his bare toes. He looks around at the group. “Don’t you think young Harry here, as the youngest of this group, is required to tell his new husband all about his background?” A resounding cheer goes up and Harry feels his already sunburnt cheeks grow pinker as Louis settles his head into Aiden’s lap, as if he’s settling in for the long run.

“Um, he was a radio host and he wore a lot of band t-shirts?” Harry says. “He was the most recent.”

“Surely you’ve been with more people than one lowly radio host?” Louis pushes him and Harry wonders why Louis is so interested in who Harry has been with, but he can’t find it in himself to ask, so he just shrugs.

“I dunno, no one that important. Lots of sex, not a lot of feelings,” he says, trying to act nonchalant. A few people laugh but Louis’s not laughing and he’s not smiling either, he’s just looking at Harry with his mouth relaxed and his eyes shiny as he gazes at Harry.

“Well, what happened with radio host guy?” The girl with the belly piercing asks from across the circle and Louis shoots his hand in the air and points at her, as if acknowledging the importance of her question. He turns back to Harry with a raised eyebrow, waiting for the answer.

“Um, he slept with this model guy,” Harry says awkwardly. “A lot.” The group is silent and Harry sees a few pitying looks, which sucks because the last thing he wants is pity. Then the man with the guitar, Matt, Harry thinks, speaks up and says,

“Well fuck that, he doesn’t deserve you, we’d rather have you,” and his smile is wide and genuine and Harry laughs along with the group.

The conversation moves away from Harry and his past “conquests” as Louis put it, and Harry relaxes when the attention is away from him and he goes back to stroking his thumbs over Louis’s ankles. Louis’s caught in an animated conversation over Power Rangers with Aiden, but he keeps looking over at Harry and smiling softly and every time he does, Harry feels 16 again and falling for every boy that looked his way. His bones keep melting and he knows his smile is silly, but this boy, with the eyes and the smile and the hair, Harry just wants to hold his hand.

At some point during the lull in conversation, Louis gets up and plops down again on Harry’s lap, his limbs folding around Harry’s waist and Harry instinctively puts his hands on Louis’s hips, his thumbs stroking the little juts of Louis’s hipbones under his shirt. Louis smiles at him, shiny and giddy and Harry’s heart thumps a few extra times.

“You’ve got some ketchup on your face,” Louis says quietly. He leans in and Harry’s skin itches as Louis’s soft lips touch Harry’s cheek, just barely on the corner of his mouth. Harry knows he didn’t have ketchup on his face. His cheek tingles where Louis’s mouth was and when he pulls back, his blue eyes are shy in a way that Harry hasn’t yet seen today. Louis puts his hands around Harry’s neck and somebody catcalls from across the circle, but they ignore them and Louis rests his forehead against Harry’s. His thumbs are stroking the back of Harry’s neck, just under his sweaty curls and his knees are up in Harry’s armpits.

“I’m glad you’re not with radio host guy anymore,” Louis whispers softly, his breath a small huff against Harry’s lip. His breath smells like beer and ketchup and strangely Harry finds that he likes it. The corners of Louis’s eyes are crinkled, the way Harry has come to love over the day.

Harry hums and nudges Louis’s forehead with his own. “Me too.”

Louis pulls back a little bit so he can look Harry in the eye. “He sounds like a real prick,” he whispers.

Harry laughs loudly and Louis giggles and throws himself backwards, landing with a thump on the ground, his legs still wrapped around Harry’s waist. His t-shirt rides up and Harry can see his soft stomach peeking out and he aches to put his hands flat on his belly but he’s not sure that’s allowed, so he settles for tapping Louis’s hipbones with his fingers. Louis’s smile is sweet and loose, lazy from the beer and the conversation and the sun all day and in the glittering park lights, his eyes shine even brighter, little glowing stars set into his tan face. Harry can’t help but smile back and that curl of warmth in his stomach licks into his heart and he blesses whatever higher power there is that in the thousands of people in the park today, Louis spilled beer on him.

After they’ve eaten their weight in hotdogs, they look back at their program and decide to go see Bombay Bicycle Club. The crowd has calmed down by this point, some people gone back to their tents to drink themselves silly and others have found somebody with sun in their eyes and wind in their hair to spend the night with. The crowd at this stage is loose, mellow, arms around each other, singing along in words that float above the sound of the parties back at the tents. Harry wraps an arm around Louis and an arm around the boy Aiden and they sway with the masses, and Harry feels like such a music festival cliché but he doesn’t even care because Louis’s fingers are creeping under his shirt and he keeps giving him these sideways smiles and there’s this little furl of anticipation in Harry’s stomach that wonders what’s going to happen at the end of the night. The beer has made them both loose and their smiles stretch across their faces and anyone looking at the two of them would have thought them desperately in love, with Louis’s sweet smiles and wandering fingers and Harry’s intense eyes and his skinny hip deliberately knocking against Louis’s. He pulls Louis in front of him, like before, and even though it throws off the sway of the group around them, their friends just close in around them and hold them in their line and Harry wraps his arms around Louis’s stomach, and Louis winds his arms behind Harry and sticks his hands in Harry’s back pockets. Harry tries not to get too excited at that, he does have Louis in front of him after all and it wouldn’t be very funny if Louis felt Harry get a hard-on like a little schoolboy at the feel of Louis’s hands on his arse. He buries his face in Louis’s neck and grins at the way he can feel a shiver go down Louis’s back. Louis’s neck is sweaty and Harry feels some sort of perverse pleasure in the way their sweat mixes on his forehead.

They sway together, the music moving them and the crowd pushing and pulling them until Harry feels like he’s detached from his body and floating above the masses, just watching them together and marveling at the way Louis’s body curves so perfectly into the front of Harry’s, watching the way Louis tips his head back to lean on Harry’s shoulder and Harry mouths at the side of his neck, tasting the salty sweat that gathers in the dips of his collarbones.

It’s so easy that Harry feels as if they’ve been doing this for years, not like they’ve known each other for mere hours. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but Harry feels as if he and Louis would slide into place with each other like they’d been grasping in the dark for centuries and a candle suddenly flares, illuminating the two of them and their hands are only inches apart and so close, close enough to grasp. It’s easy in a way that being with Nick never was, where Harry always felt he was competing and trying to one-up Nick, prove that he wasn’t this little kid, that he actually did deserve to have this older man want him. With Louis, it’s just easy smiles and soft fingers and Harry doesn’t have to try, it just happens. It’s easy like the way Harry’s fingers slot into Louis’s hipbones, easy the way Louis instinctively grabbed Harry’s t-shirt in the crowd. Harry kisses the back of Louis’s neck and feels the shiver start at the top of Louis’s spine and unravel under his lips and suddenly, Harry wants to get away from the people and the music and he just wants Louis looking up at him the way he was all afternoon.

He tilts his head around Louis’s and kisses his earlobe.

“We should get out of here,” Harry whispers against his ear and he feels Louis shudder again. Louis nods emphatically and they unwind themselves from each other, sheepishly wave goodbye to their hooting and catcalling friends, and push through the crowd back to the tenting area.

They walk through the campground, past small fires that sometimes have a rowdy group of partiers gathered around them, others with just a lone couple wrapped up on a chair. Sometimes they recognize somebody from their afternoon and they wave, but they continue on, hands loosely clasped. They don’t say anything and there’s a spark in Harry’s stomach. They keep catching each other’s eyes and then grinning shyly and Louis knocks his hip against Harry’s and they laugh quietly.

When they reach Louis’s campsite, it’s empty and they figure Liam is spending the evening with Danielle and Harry tries not to think about what that means for him and Louis.

They stop and Louis twists his fingers around Harry’s a few times, swinging it back and forth, and Harry contents himself with just looking down at Louis’s small, delicate face with the cheekbones that are thrown into sharp relief by the flickering campfires around them.

Louis hums and looks down, his eyelashes casting long shadows on those stupid cheekbones and god, Harry can’t believe he’s got this boy in his hands and that he’s spent the day with him.

Louis looks up and blinks and smiles sweetly. “Well Harry, since we are a couple, I think you have to kiss me goodnight.”

Harry laughs, giddy, and delicately grasps Louis’s jaw in his huge hands, fingers on the dents below his ears and thumbs under the sharp line of his jaw. He leans in, their lips almost touching. He feels Louis’s hands on his waist and god, he feels like such a teenager. “Yeah?”

Louis nods imperceptibly and then Harry closes the distance and presses their lips together softly. Louis melts under his touch, his hands running up Harry’s back and then down again, feeling with his little fingers the bumps in Harry’s spine and Harry wonders if he can feel the way Harry is trembling as he presses soft, close-mouthed kisses to Louis’s soft lips. All day they’ve been holding hands and kissing each other’s necks and cheeks and everything but their lips and god, Harry’s been dying for this, positively aching for it and it’s better than he expected, better than anything he’s ever done.

Louis gets his hands under Harry’s shirt, runs them over his stomach and Harry feels his belly violently contract at Louis’s cold hands roaming his skin, up, up, up and then Louis gives a small snort against his lips as his fingers find Harry’s extra nipples. He pulls away from Harry’s mouth and Harry follows, chasing his lips. Oh god, his lips are dark and swollen from kissing and it goes straight to Harry’s crotch. Louis arches an eyebrow and looks down at the shape of his hands under Harry’s shirt where his thumbs are running over Harry’s extra nipples and Harry just laughs quietly and crowds him again, puts his hands on the small of Louis’s back and pulls him up against his body.

Their mouths come together again and Harry can’t believe how good it is, the way their lips slide together and he can feel the soft velvet of the inside of Louis’s lip, the way Louis’s hands stroke over his nipples and his stomach and around his waist and up his back, and Harry can feel his legs turn to jelly as they stand there. They stumble over to the fire pit and crash down into a folding chair, Louis falling onto Harry’s lap, his legs curled up under Harry’s armpits and finally Harry puts his hands on Louis’s arse, squeezes through the tight blue fabric and relishes the way Louis groans quietly against his lips. Their breathing is short, heaving, and the sounds around them melt away until all Harry can concentrate on is the sweet slide of Louis’s lips on his own and the way Louis’s hands are in his hair, pulling sharply, enough to hurt, but it feels so good and he doesn’t know who moans, but it vibrates in their mouths and Harry can feel Louis’s thighs trembling around him.

Harry pulls away and puts his mouth to Louis’s throat, licking at the sweat there and biting down sharply until Louis emits a high-pitched keen and digs his fingers into Harry’s scalp. Harry’s blood feels on fire, burning and glowing with the blue of Louis’s eyes and the red of his mouth and Harry thinks he’s never felt anything so good.

Louis turns his head and bites Harry’s ear, licking around the shell. “We should take this inside,” he whispers quietly and Harry nods vigorously. Louis makes to climb off Harry’s lap, but Harry grabs his thighs and stands up with Louis wrapped around him and he swallows the small gasp that Louis pants out. Harry palms at his arse, fingers squeezing and Louis whimpers into his mouth, his arms wrapped around Harry’s neck with his hands creeping down then neckline of Harry’s t-shirt.

Harry walks them over to Louis’s tent, keeps one hand under Louis’s arse, pushes the flap open, kneels down, and heaves them both onto the sleeping bag that’s already thrown across the hard ground. They land with an oomph and Louis giggles and buries his face in Harry’s neck, his legs wrapped around Harry’s waist till he’s hanging from him like a koala. Louis squeezes his legs and arms around Harry once and then drops on his back, laughing with his eyes screwed shut, with those crinkles, and his mouth in a wide grin, and god, he’s so beautiful and Harry can’t look away.

Harry goes to undo the button on Louis’s shorts but Louis grabs his hands and stops him with a breathless giggle. His knees come up to bracket Harry’s hips as Harry hovers over him. “Wait, wait, are you sure about this?” Louis whispers, giddy and quiet.

“Yeah, fuck, yeah I’m sure,” Harry groans, and Louis lets go of Harry’s hands and he makes quick work of Louis’s shorts, straightening Louis’s legs on other side of him and pulling them down past his bare feet. Louis’s already so hard and Harry grins against Louis’s neck, kisses under his jaw as Louis runs his hands up and down the sides of Harry’s torso, underneath his t-shirt. Harry kisses Louis hard, his veins thrumming with anticipation and his skin tingling with heat. The glow of the fires around them shines through the tent and it illuminates them in a dim golden light, flickering across Louis’s face, making his eyelashes seem miles long and his lips dark and red from being kissed.

Harry gets a hand inside Louis’s boxers and wraps a hand around Louis’s cock, his skin silky and hot and so hard in Harry’s hand. Louis whines and his hips jolt up into Harry’s and Harry wishes he had more hands to hold Louis’s hips down but he’s got one threaded through Louis’s hair and it’s making his eyes roll back in his head so beautifully and his lips part in a sigh that washes over Harry’s face as he hovers over him. Louis kisses him sloppily, teeth clacking against his and those little fangs biting gently onto Harry’s mouth and Harry groans at the feeling of Louis’s teeth biting down until he tastes blood. He awkwardly strokes Louis, his wrist at a funny angle but god, Louis’s reaction is so worth the ache in his hand; Louis’s panting, his hips shifting under Harry’s hand and his eyes are squeezed shut, the wrinkles by his eyes deep and wide. Harry wants to imprint this on the inside of his eyeballs, wants to memorize the sound of Louis’s gasps at every twist of Harry’s hand, the way he whimpers against Harry’s mouth when Harry brushes his thumb over the tip of his cock.

Harry takes his hand off Louis’s cock, shivers at the sound of Louis’s whine, and moves his mouth down from Louis’s lips, down his throat, sucking messily on the golden skin that’s tempted him all day. He can feel Louis swallow against his lips and god, Harry’s pants are so fucking constricting, his cock is a hard line against Louis’s thigh and he knows Louis can feel it, from the way he keeps shifting his hips up, almost deliberately and Harry wants to laugh at how similar this boy is to him, the way he’s falling apart under Harry’s hands but still manages to tease him and drive him crazy.

Harry pulls his mouth away from Louis’s neck and admires the dark bruise forming on Louis’s throat, the edges of it turning purple and red before him. Louis opens his eyes and they’re such a dark blue, heavy with lust, with threads of gold in them that Harry hadn’t noticed during the day. His eyelids are heavy, hooded, and he’s breathing deeply, looking at Harry like he wants to devour him, and frankly Harry wants nothing more. He pulls Louis’s t-shirt off and bites gently at Louis’s nipples, rubbing his hands down Louis’s sides, and grinning against his chest as Louis arches up into it, hands scrabbling at the small of Harry’s back.

“Ugh, take this off, take it off, please, please, please,” Louis begs, his fingers curled in Harry’s t-shirt, trying to rip it off over his head even while Harry’s mouth is attached to his nipples. Harry sits up and rips the shirt off, throwing it over to join Louis’s shorts in the corner of the tent. He unbuttons his jeans to give his cock some breathing room and then goes right back to making a mess of Louis’s stomach, marking his soft belly with purple lovebites, stroking over the spots with his tongue, his hands kneading at the insides of Louis’s thick thighs until Louis is almost sobbing above him, his breath a harsh pant. Harry’s mouth hits the waistband of Louis’s boxers and suddenly Harry wants desperately to feel the heaviness of Louis in his mouth, stretch his lips around his cock and take Louis apart with his mouth. He pulls Louis’s boxers off and Louis’s cock falls against his stomach, hard and leaking.

When Harry wraps his mouth around Louis’s cock, Louis almost wrenches his back arching up from the ground, a guttural groan falling out of his open mouth, and Harry hums happily around him. Louis’s got his hands in Harry’s hair, pulling the silky strands behind his ears and scratching with his thumbs. The ache in Harry’s crotch is almost unbearable, with the blurred line between pain and pleasure that Louis pulling on his hair is doing to him, and he shoves a hand inside his jeans to palm at his own dick, releasing some of the tension. Louis whimpers above him and Harry pushes his nose down till it touches his other hand where it’s wrapped around the base of Louis’s cock, nestled in the dark patch of hair on his stomach.

Harry can feel the trembling in Louis’s thighs where they’re hooked above his shoulders and if he looks up, there are those blue eyes burning a hole in his face, intense and dark and heavy, until he hums and twists his hand sharply and Louis gasps, high-pitched and moaning and tosses his head backwards, exposing the lovely bruise on his throat to the light.

“Harry, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Louis chants under his breath and Harry giggles around Louis’s dick and ends up choking himself and he pulls off to wipe at his mouth and grin down at Louis. Louis smiles back at him, his mouth stretched open, lazy and loose and Harry can’t help but laugh quietly, lean down and kiss Louis hard with an open mouth, let him taste himself on Harry’s tongue. God, this boy is insane.

He kisses the tip of Louis’s cock, lets his tongue trail down the vein on the underside, the skin hot and silky under his tongue and Louis moans above him, his giggles turning into high-pitched whines.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Louis keens and his thighs clamp around Harry’s head as Harry goes down on him until his nose is brushing the soft skin at Louis’s belly and then Louis cries out sharply and comes down Harry’s throat, making him choke and splutter on the bitter substance.

Harry sits up and licks his lips and shoves his hand inside his jeans, pushing them down with his other hand and yanking his boxers down to his knees. He collapses next to a panting Louis, nudges his hot shoulder with his nose and licks at his neck while he steadily strokes himself, a hazy cloud creeping on along the edges of his mind as he twists his hand up his cock and watches the rise and fall of Louis’s stomach as he comes down from his high. Louis turns his head, watches the tug of Harry’s hand and then his eyes flick up to Harry’s lips, which Harrys knows must be swollen and red from sucking Louis’s cock and he grins when Louis groans at the sight of his abused mouth.

“Fuck, you’re crazy,” Louis sighs and wraps his little hand around Harry’s on his cock and tugs with him, kissing Harry messily, swirling his tongue around behind Harry’s teeth and searching for the taste of himself on Harry’s tongue. It’s too good, it’s so good, and Harry fights to keep his eyes open, to watch the bones of Louis’s wrists move as he strokes Harry’s cock, to watch the way Louis’s blue eyes get hazy with post-orgasm bliss.

“Lou, Lou, Lou, fuck oh my god your hand, shit,” Harry babbles as he feels the tightening in his stomach and Louis just grins at him, lazy and satiated, and then Harry is shooting across both their hands and onto Louis’s stomach and then holy shit, Louis is trailing his fingers through his come and bringing it up to his mouth and sucking on his fingers and Harry groans and bites down hard on Louis’s shoulder.

They lay side by side, Harry’s head turned so his face is pressed into Louis’s neck, even though it’s far too hot in the tent. The sounds of the outside world slowly filter back in and Harry giggles at the thought of who might’ve heard them, but he doesn’t even care because Louis turns his heavy head and smiles at him, slow and sweet and Harry kisses him with lips so raw it almost hurts.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes against his lips. Louis giggles and nods.

“Haz, you idiot, your pants are still around your knees,” Louis says with his eyes closed. His words are slurred, tired and lazy after his orgasm. Harry kicks off his jeans and grabs a blanket from the other side of them, throwing it over the two of them. Louis turns on his side and hooks his leg up over Harry’s hip, tucking his hands under Harry’s body and sleepily kissing his upper lip without really aiming for anywhere in general.

“Still gon’ be here in the mornin’?” Louis asks drowsily. His eyelashes flutter against Harry’s cheek. A slow liquid exhaustion is running deep in Harry’s bones, tired from the day of sun and holding himself back from Louis and the dancing and all he wants to do is curl up beside Louis and sleep the rest of the weekend away.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “M’ not goin’ anywhere.”

Louis snuffles against his neck and Harry’s last thought is that those words might be truer than anything he’s ever spoken.

 

**

Harry wakes up with Louis’s hair in his nose and his freezing cold toes shoved up under his shin and Louis’s arm flung across his waist. It’s perfect. He lies there for a few minutes, listening to the sound of Louis’s breath and the sounds of people in the campground waking up, fires being lit and people talking quietly. He extricates himself from Louis carefully, covering him with the blanket and tugging his jeans on from last night. Harry walks out of the tent, cracks his back and looks around at the sleepy gray morning, people tiredly drinking cups of coffee around the fires and stumbling out of tents.

There’ll probably be a line at the breakfast stands, he thinks, so he hurries from the campsite, hoping to get the breakfast and be back before Louis wakes up. He doesn’t know if Louis is an early or late riser, but he doesn’t want the boy to wake up to an empty tent.

When Harry returns, balancing two cups of coffee and a couple greasy breakfast sandwiches, he finds Liam sitting making a fire in their until-now unused fire pit. His hair is wild and ruffled and he’s still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, which makes Harry grin into his arm as he plops down on the seat next to Liam.

“Morning!” He exclaims brightly and tosses and a sandwich at Liam, who thanks him gratefully. Liam doesn’t seem to be a morning person, so they sit there in silence, chewing thoughtfully on their sandwiches and watching the rest of the campground wake up.

“So, how’d it go with that girl, Danielle?” Harry asks conversationally and tosses the wrapper of his sandwich into the fire.

Liam blushes, like Harry knew he would, and stumbles over his words. “Oh, you know, good. She’s off trying to find somebody with dry shampoo.”

Harry looks at him quizzically.

Liam shrugs. “Yeah, I dunno know what it is either, but it seemed pretty important, so.”

Harry hums and nods. Girls and their hair products. Worse than Zayn. Speaking of, Harry pulls his phone out of his pocket. Almost dead, but he manages to send a quick text to Zayn letting him know where he ended up last night (Zayn won’t be surprised) and telling him they’ll try and meet up today.

“Fucking hell, whose idea was it to fucking sleep on the ground,” a loud voice bursts out from behind him and Harry looks back in time to see Louis fall out of the tent and land in a heap on the ground, naked but for the blanket wrapped around his waist.

“Hey, Lou,” Liam nods at him. “Good sleep?” Liam looks like he’s trying to hold in a laugh and all of a sudden, Harry likes him a lot better than he thought he did.

“Fuck off,” Louis grumbles. He picks himself up, reaches back into the tent, rifles around for a bit and then pulls on a pair of baggy trackies and a sweat-shirt. He slouches over to the fire and then sees Harry and stops.

“Hi,” he says shyly, his eyes cast down. Harry’s heart thumps loudly. What if everything’s different? What if last night was just a one-time thing and he was supposed to get lost this morning?

“Hi,” he says carefully. And then Louis shuffles over and plops down on his lap and tucks his face into Harry’s neck and Harry feels a lot better about everything and he has a sudden appreciation for mornings, for the way Louis’s hair is sticking up at the back and the way he has the imprint of what must’ve been the sleeping bag zipper running across the side of his cheek. His nose is a little pink from sunburn yesterday and his hair flops softly across his forehead and now Harry actually can brush his fringe back from his face, so he does, and Louis pushes into it like a cat.

“Hi,” Harry whispers again into Louis’s ear. Louis nuzzles into his hair and breathes in deeply and Harry feels like he should be embarrassed because he probably smells like sex and sweat and campfire but Louis doesn’t seem to mind as he snuggles down onto Harry’s chest.

“Got you a coffee and a sandwich,” Harry says softly and Louis whines and makes gimme hands over at Liam, who sighs deeply like it’s the biggest chore in the world to hand Louis his coffee and sandwich, but when Louis takes a deep gulp of his coffee and makes a content noise, Liam smiles softly at him and leans back into his chair to watch the campers go by. Harry likes him.

By the time Louis has fully woken up, the sun is high in the sky and campers are already trickling down to the stages, the low rumble of the crowd reminding Harry of the thrill and the excitement of yesterday, the small smiles of Louis and the golden light that seemed to emanate from him all day while Harry couldn’t take his eyes off him.

Zayn and Niall wander by after a while, Zayn with a permanent frown plastered on his face, and Harry berates Niall for not waking Zayn up with a blowjob to start his day. Liam looks like he feels as though he should be scolding them for talking about such things, but Louis looks at him with this certain face and Liam’s features relax and Harry wonders what the look meant, but it’s not really important as the five of them sit around the fire and trade stories of the day before. Most of Harry’s involve something wonderful or amazing or legendary that Louis did and before long everyone’s groaning at him to stop talking about his husband and Harry would be embarrassed except Louis keeps pressing these small kisses under his jaw and well, Harry really can’t find it in himself to care what the other boys think.

They make their plans for the day together. It’s their last day and they want to hit all the bands they weren’t able to the day before and this time, they’re all going to stick together. Zayn and Liam had hit it off, somehow, and they sat there talking about some musician they both liked while Niall sat there steadily unwrapping and eating about six breakfast sandwiches and lobbing his opinion over at Harry and Louis holding their program.

They write out their plan, Harry borrows a t-shirt from Liam, one that actually fits him, and they set off towards the first stage, swept up in the sea of people.

The rest of the afternoon is a haze of sun and Louis’s eyes and the thrill that zips through Harry’s spine when Louis presses these quick, hot kisses to his lips in the middle of the crowd. Sometimes they’ll just be singing along, raucous and enjoying the roar and the music, and Louis will just turn to Harry and grab his arms with bruising fingers and capture his lips and Harry can’t help but wrap his arms around Louis’s waist and they stand there with their mouths moving over each other as the masses move around them and again, Harry feels like they’re this rock in the middle of the ocean, stable and solid while everyone writhes around them. It’s like this bubble, where all that matters is the look on Louis’s face when Harry sings you could be the one to set me free, and with your hand in mine we will run, to a place that knows no one, the way Niall’s got one hand around Louis’s waist and his mouth against Zayn’s neck while Zayn shouts lyrics in Liam’s face. They’re drunk on each other, all of them, Zayn drunk on Niall, Harry drunk on Louis, and Liam drunk on being something, being alive. He’s got Danielle in his arms and she’s swaying and writhing and Liam’s mouth keeps dropping open when she’ll slide up against him and Harry and Louis have to laugh into each other’s necks at the baffled look on his face when she slides his hands onto her waist.

Harry can’t help it, he’s got his lips on Louis’s neck constantly and Louis has a hand in his hair, pulling him in time with the music until Harry’s got that look in his eyes that makes Louis smile mischievously and grind his arse against Harry’s hips while Niall roars in laughter at the slack look on Harry’s face. They move from stage to stage and the sun beats down on them, burning their bare shoulders when they rip their t-shirts off and lose them in the crowd. Louis rides on Liam’s shoulders, screaming his head off and waving his fists around until Harry tugs on his feet and he tumbles down into his arms and Harry can’t stand it, he needs Louis’s mouth on his and it’s just this hot race of heat and music and friends and their arms all around each other and Harry feels like he’s known the other two boys his entire life.

By nightfall, they’re all sunburnt and drunk off the music and each other and they stumble back to Louis and Liam’s campfire, hips knocking together in a beat that only the 5 of them can understand. After a while, Zayn and Niall wander off into the night, Zayn with his mouth attached to Niall’s neck in a way that makes Harry simply happy that his friends are happy. The fire is low, but Harry and Louis and Liam sit there till late into the night, with Liam telling stories of when he and Louis were younger. Harry sides are aching from laughter, his ribs splitting from tales of Louis as a 12 year old, rambunctious and annoying with an obsession with footy. Every time Liam tries to start a story, Louis jumps in to tell it a different way until finally Harry gathers Louis up in his arms and tucks his head under his chin and then Louis just randomly interjects small details.

It’s quiet, it’s nice. After a while, Liam wanders off into his tent and Harry and Louis sit by the fire as it burns down, quietly watching the embers and occasionally laughing softly over something said or done that day.

They move to the ground, Harry with his back up against the tree that overlooks their tents and Louis with his head in Harry’s lap, looking up at him, his bright sapphire eyes glowing in the firelight. Harry strokes the skin behind Louis’s ears with his fingers and the only sounds are those of the distant yells of campers and the crackling of the fires around them.

“Harry,” Louis says quietly, his fingers picking at the hem of Harry’s t-shirt.

Harry hums in acknowledgement.

“What’re we doing?”

“What do you mean?” Harry says, puzzled. He tugs gently on Louis’s hair, the feathery strands on his forehead. Louis’s eyes are downcast.

“I mean, I don’t even know your last name,” he sighs heavily.

“Styles.”

“Tomlinson.”

“Hi,” Harry laughs softly.

Louis pokes him in the stomach. “Hi.”

“Don’t you ever just enjoy something because it’s there and you can?” Harry asks. He shifts his knees and watches as Louis’s head rises and falls and then settles back into the cradle of his lap. An owl hoots behind them. The fire is low, the flames throwing shadows on their bodies so Harry can only see half of Louis’s face.

“Never really had that luxury,” Louis muses. “Had a pretty big family, not a lot of money, things don’t stick around long enough to enjoy them.”

That’s sad, Harry thinks. He says so out loud and Louis shrugs and doesn’t say anything.

Harry leans down and kisses Louis soft and slowly. He sweeps his tongue across Louis’s bottom lip until he opens his mouth and their tongues slide together warmly and it’s so nice and sweet that Harry’s stomach clenches at the thought that tonight is their last night and tomorrow morning they have to go home and Harry thinks he’d almost give anything to be stay in this world forever. To wake up and delight in the way Louis rubs the sleep out of his eyes, to be able to kiss him hard whenever he wanted, to make him laugh at the way Harry makes up the lyrics to the songs he didn’t know.

When they curl up under the blanket that night, they don’t say anything about the morning because neither of them is really sure what there is to say. Harry doesn’t even know where Louis goes to uni and he’s afraid to ask in case it ends up being somewhere really far away, or if Louis isn’t interested in this extending beyond the weekend. Does Harry even want it to extend beyond the weekend?

The answer is clear to him. Louis has a light that Harry hasn’t seen in years, not since the first boy he was in love with, and Harry’s not sure that people like Louis exist in his world. He’s never met somebody with such a whole-hearted appreciation of life and Harry wants to bottle it up and carry it with him because he knows it’s rare. Louis’s one in a million and Harry would be insane not to try his hardest to keep that.

They lie there, legs tangled and hands clasped, afraid to fall asleep because it means morning will come faster and morning means goodbye. Louis whispers stories of his sisters, of his mom, of high school, of being young and scared of his sexuality and Harry kisses his jaw and holds him. Harry mumbles the story of Nick into the darkness and Louis loudly exclaims that Nick is even more of an asshole than he thought and Harry laughs, the sound echoing around in their tent. They don’t talk about morning, they don’t talk about goodbyes. They don’t even exchange phone numbers, because to do so would mean that the spell of this weekend would be broken, that on Monday it would be time to go back to the real world. Harry doesn’t want that and he knows by the dimmed light in Louis’s eyes that he doesn’t want that, but how do you say that?

They fall asleep, curled together, whispering secrets and dreams into the air and listen to the sounds of the night. They exchange soft kisses and fall asleep mid-kiss, their mouths moving together as their breaths slow down into a lazy deep night’s sleep.

 

**

They shuffle their feet and Zayn taps anxiously on the steering wheel of the car. Niall’s sprawled in the front seat, feet up on the dash, snoring away. Breakfast crumbs on his sweat-shirt. Harry wants to cry at how similar the scene is to when they arrived and he was full of bitterness and disappointment and loneliness and now he doesn’t want to leave because there’s this boy in front of him, this boy with the blue eyes shadowed with sleepiness and a downturned smile. Louis’s got his hands in his sweat-shirt pockets, like he’s afraid to touch Harry. They bump shoulders and then press their foreheads together and Harry wraps his arms around Louis, palms the small of his back and lets his fingers creep under the soft fabric of Louis’s sweat-shirt.

“Don’t forget about me, ok?” Harry whispers and he wants to laugh at himself because it sounds like a line out of a movie but it’s true, he doesn’t want to forget the boy with the sun in his hair and a laugh that sounds like music, and he doesn’t want this boy to forget him either.

Louis nudges his forehead and chuckles gently. “You’re an idiot, Haz.”

“I know.”

Louis leans back and takes his hands out of his sweat-shirt pockets and sinks his thumb into Harry’s dimple. Harry turns his head and kisses the side of Louis’s wrist, at the thin skin with the blue veins running underneath.

Harry turns away from Louis when Zayn honks the horn. He throws his bag in the trunk, on top of the tents that Zayn had stuffed in there, too lazy to properly take them down. Harry will probably get a poke in the eye with one of the poles on the way home.

“Hazza, wait,” he hears behind him and he turns around Louis rushes toward and grabs Harry’s shoulders and kisses him hard, his mouth firm against Harry’s and his fingers bruising Harry’s shoulders. Harry grabs him around the waist and pulls him up to his toes till he’s holding him up in the air and they press their mouths together like Harry’s trying to tell Louis all those things he wanted to tell him the first day they met, that Louis’s eyes made his bones ache with something he’d never felt before, that the way his name sounded in Louis’s mouth was simultaneously the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard, and the hottest, that he was in love with the fire in Louis’s veins, even after only having known him for two days.

When he sets him down, Harry feels fingers at his back pocket and he smiles against Louis’s lips because he knows Louis just slipped him his number, but he doesn’t say anything, let’s Louis think he’s fooled Harry. He presses one last kiss to Louis’s lips, mumbles a “see ya” against his mouth, and climbs into the backseat of the car.

As they drive off, Harry watches through the back window as Louis grow smaller and smaller.

**

Louis looks out the window at the fields rushing by and wonders if Harry’s found the little scrap of paper in his pocket yet. Louis tells himself that if he never gets a call or a text from Harry, it means that Harry didn’t find it and he washes his jeans and the note disintegrated and that’s it, that’s fate, that’s the end of it and they weren’t mean to find each other after that weekend of sun and beer and maybe love.

Or maybe Harry will find it when he goes to do laundry one day and he’ll put it on the washer to call Louis later and then forget about it and the scrap of paper will get lost and that too, that’ll be the end of it, end of the boy with the too-red mouth and the bright green eyes.

Quite possibly, Harry will find the scrap of paper and scoff at Louis, laugh at him for trying to continue what might’ve been possible and he’ll throw the piece of paper in the garbage and go back to fucking his beautiful sophisticated experienced radio-host ex-boyfriend.

Louis hopes it’s not the last scenario.

His phone buzzes with a text. It’s from an unknown number. Louis smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Mumford and Son's song Lover of the Light.


End file.
